


Safe and Sound

by haku23



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haku23/pseuds/haku23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve comes home after a long night of 4th of July celebrations and Bucky comforts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe and Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I wrote awhile back for a prompt on the stevebuckyfest.

Bucky flips off the television when he hears door handle turning, strides to the radio-it looks old but has all of the hardware that newer models have(a gift from Stark)-and turns the dial to the Sounds of the 40s station. Steve won't want to eat right away but all of the ingredients for successful pancakes sit in the fridge, ready for when he does.   
  
The overhead lighting highlights the bags under Steve's eyes when he helps him take off the trench coat that hides the Cap uniform from outsiders and his mouth turns down in a frown after a brief smile at Bucky.   
  
“Hungry?” he asks because he always asks Steve if he wants to eat when he gets home but he expects the shake of the head he gets, “c'mon, let's get you changed, huh?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
They move to the bedroom where he keeps the lights off except for a small lamp and the blinds have been closed. Steve sits, takes off his boots, pulls at his gloves until he looks up at Bucky who has taken his place near the window-guarding-with thinly veiled panic in his eyes.   
  
“I got you,” he says, cards his flesh hand through his hair and yanks the gloves off with the other. He takes them both and puts them in the closet, unbuckles the straps holding the shield against Steve's back then places the shield beside Steve's side of the bed.   
  
“Can do it.”  
  
“What, fella can't help a guy out now?” he asks, keeping his tone light and starting on the top of the uniform, “remember the first time I took you outta this?”   
  
“You kept lookin' at me.”   
  
“Can you blame me?” he pushes the material off of Steve's shoulders, sets it on the bed and gestures for him to stand, “c'mon, lemme get your pants.”   
  
“Buck-”   
  
“It okay?”   
  
Steve breathes out, “yeah. Yeah it's okay.”   
  
They don't shower though Steve probably wants to but leaving him to his own devices-their shower can barely hold one of them never mind two-right now wouldn't work out so great. He helps him into an undershirt and a pair of track pants with a generic logo on the leg then leads him back to the living room. The radio is quiet enough that all he can hear is soft notes and low, indistinct words being sung. It'll do for now, though, and when they settle on the couch to listen Steve finally cracks.   
  
It doesn't happen suddenly like other guys-Steve tries to hold it in, doesn't like letting anything out-just an increase in how his hands shake at first. Bucky doesn't try to stop them when he puts an arm around Steve's shoulders and pulls him into a one armed embrace, just rubs his hand over his arm slowly to ease the tension in it.   
  
“They oughta know better,” he says quietly, like tradition, “and don't say it's your responsibility, either, cause it ain't.”   
  
“I'm Captain America, Bucky.”  
  
He shivers at the name, at the admission and turns his face into Bucky's neck, wraps his arms around his waist, “talk.”   
  
“I'm here, you know that, punk. Wouldn't go anywhere without you,” he pulls him in closer, close enough that Steve has to straddle his lap to stay balanced, “not goin' anywhere, see? You got me pinned.”   
  
“Are you cold?”   
  
“Nah, I'm not cold. Warm. We ain't on a train, Steve. I'm right here,” he carefully angles his left arm away, keeps running his other hand through his hair.   
  
“Dammit, I'm so-”  
  
“Human? Shouldn't have asked you to go to 'em all, Steve, that's all there is.”   
  
He chokes out a sob but doesn't say anything. Bucky always hates this part-has always hated Steve crying because once he's wound up enough to start he deserves to be allowed to see it through until the tears dry up. But it doesn't make it any easier.   
  
“Shh, hey, it's alright,” he says even though it's not, really, hasn't been since they both ran off to war like the idealistic kids they'd been. SHIELD should have intervened after the first couple of shows. Hell, they probably had but Steve gets so stubborn about it, smiles even when he sees mortars and men dying while everyone else watches fireworks light up the sky and 'oohs' their admiration. He'd probably brushed off anyone telling him to go home, thought it his responsibility to the American public to be at their stupid celebrations while he wanted to be home.   
  
“You remember the first time we went to Coney?”   
  
Steve snuffles out a noise that sounds affirmative.   
  
“Eating expensive hot dogs and waitin' until it got dark to run into the water naked like the other little shits with the same idea.”   
  
“I caught a cold after.”   
  
“Yeah, all I heard for a week at night was you snifflin'.”  
  
“It was your idea to go skinny dipping in the middle of September,” he murmurs, hands gripping, pulling Bucky closer to him to ease the shivers.   
  
“You followed me, didn't you?”   
  
“Would follow you anywhere, Buck.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” his own hands tighten minutely-times like these make it feel like Steve could be a million miles away, trapped in his own head and for all that his only job is to bring him back Bucky can't help but need reassurance that he's here because he sees things behind his eyelids too at night. They shouldn't be trying to keep each other afloat when the both of them are sinking but they do it together so he never feels it when they slip under the surface, into the darkness of memories and years of nightmare fuel. “Let's get to bed if you're ready.”  
  
“I'm ready,” he says, pulls back just enough so they can get off of the couch.   
  
Bucky leads him by the hand and Steve hates it but sometimes he needs it too and so he lets Bucky do it, lets him lay him down on his stomach, “gonna give you a massage. That okay?”   
  
“You don't have to-”  
  
“Nah, but who can blame me for wantin' to get my hands on you?”   
  
“It's okay,” Steve nods, voice muffled from the pillow.   
  
They have massage oil-he doesn't know why anyone would be surprised by it but the last time Stark had stayed over he'd made a big deal of it-and he lingers in the bathroom still in sight of Steve while he goes through the selection. Steve likes the lavender one and it'll help him relax enough to sleep so Bucky plucks that one off of the shelf.   
  
“We openin' up a bath store in there I don't know about?”   
  
“Found me out.”  
  
He smirks, “you wanna take off your shirt?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
Steve's muscles ripple as he wriggles out of his shirt but that's not what they're here for so Bucky pushes the thought away before it gets on a feedback loop. He holds out the small bottle, top open, in front of his nose, “This one good?”   
  
“You don't have to keep asking me permission, Buck. I know you wouldn't...”   
  
“Ain't you heard? Consent is sexy.”  
  
“Heard it about forty times last week doin' that commercial,” but he relaxes a little bit, relaxes even further when Bucky rubs his hands together then rubs up the length of his back to allow the oil to slick up his skin so there's no resistance.   
  
He's a mass of knots, usually is, but then so is Bucky so he doesn't mention it before loosely curling his hands and pressing his knuckles into the tense spots of his back. “Remember the time we went down to Central Park the first time?”  
  
“Yeah. Wasn't as nice back then but we didn't know the difference.”   
  
“Zoo was alright,” he moves his thumbs in circular motions down the length of his spine, “for me anyway.”   
  
“They're wild animals, is all,” Steve's voice comes slower now, the tension already easing, “doesn't seem right to keep them locked up for our entertainment.”   
  
“Take it up with the mayor, pal,” he moves onto Steve's neck, kneading it until he groans and slumps almost completely, “there ya go. Take it easy, I got you.”   
  
“They told me to go home, you know. I wanted to stay.”   
  
“Yeah, I know.”   
  
“I can handle it, Bucky.”   
  
“No one's sayin' you can't. I not allowed to worry about your dumb ass or somethin'?” he feathers his hands down his sides a few times, “I know what it's like, Steve, bein' out there.”   
  
“I know you do.”   
  
His fingers find the remaining knots and attack them at a steady pace, not too quick, not too slow so that they unravel like a bad sweater, “Next year we're goin' on vacation for your birthday. Thinkin' Hawaii, what about you?”   
  
“You'll burn.”  
  
“Nah, I'll tan. Gals won't be able to keep their eyes off me,” he says, leans over to press a kiss to the side of Steve's head, “if they ever take 'em off you. Besides, I hear the food is great.”   
  
“You been watching the Food Network while I was gone?” Steve flops onto his back slowly once Bucky gets off the back of his thighs.   
  
“That a crime? Who has all of Coronation Street Tivo'd again?”   
  
Steve smiles and lets Bucky pull the blankets out from under him and tuck them around him like a mother hen. When he lies down himself he waits for Steve to pull him closer. The room has already been checked multiple times and so he doesn't get out of bed to do it again. It's dim with only the lamp on Steve's bedside table on and the door is closed, they're locked away from the world.  
  
“Are you gonna stay all night?”   
  
“No bathroom breaks allowed, huh?”   
  
“Bucky.”   
  
“Course I'm gonna stay all night, whaddya take me for?”   
  
Steve finally cracks a smile that doesn't look brittle around the edges and Bucky turns off the light. He taps him on the side lightly and Steve gets the hint, rolls over, “you okay with being the little spoon?”   
  
“M'used to it,” he says but means that he likes it.   
  
“Need me wake me up,” he says into his hair, breathing in the scent of sweat, lavender, and leather. His hands connect loosely at Steve's waist, plenty of space for the two of them to pull away if they need to, and Steve's hand settles over them both.   
  
“Likewise.”   
  
Steve sighs out a breath and settles, thumb brushing idly over the bumps of Bucky's hands, “love you.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, love you too, punk,” he whispers for Steve's ears only. He feels the last of the tension drain out of him and at least for now they're safe, secure, and asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I have a thing for Steve and Bucky watching terrible TV shows...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
